Publisher's Weekly Review
This middle grade book by Printz Honor author Wittlinger (Saturdays with Hitchcock) shows the grief, anger, and outright havoc that suicide can leave in its wake. Twelve-year-old narrator Izzy, an aspiring comic, feels low about her father's new marriage and impending baby, but that's nothing compared to her 10-year-old cousin Oliver's devastation after his mother commits suicide. Oliver and his father move in with Izzy and her mother in the aftermath; they are soon joined by Ben, the tough 16-year-old son of her mother's boyfriend, who needs a place to stay. Izzy and Ben's relationship is combative, but Oliver, whose father is barely functioning after his wife's death, immediately takes to Ben, and when Oliver's father disappears, the three embark on a road trip to find him that brings them together. The book, which starts slow, picks up speed as the trio perseveres despite limited funds and other setbacks, and Wittlinger's realistic portrayal of loss makes for a satisfying ending as the three build on their connection. Ages 10-up. Agent: Ginger Knowlton, Curtis Brown Ltd. (Sept.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Horn Book Review
Twelve-year-old aspiring comedian Izzy deals with the emotional fallout from her aunts suicide, her parents divorce, and fading friendships while finding her own voice. Izzys home life becomes more complicated with the arrival of her ten-year-old cousin Oliver and his father, in a deep depression after his wifes death, and the addition of Ben, the sullen sixteen-year-old son of her mothers boyfriend, who moves into the basement when an emergency takes his father out of town. Izzys reactions to the upheaval are far from ideal, but Wittlinger makes her cutting remarks, a hair-dye disaster, and bad decisions about shoes seem entirely justified for the character. When Izzys uncle goes missing and Oliver, Izzy, and Ben put their fights aside in order to chase him across Massachusetts and New York, the resolution is emotionally satisfying, with the childrens concerns treated seriously and with respect. Izzys opinionated voice drives a strong narrative, and Wittlinger does an excellent job of depicting Izzys feeling of invisibility. Despite the pain her characters face, the world Wittlinger creates is ultimately an optimistic one in which emotional suffering is a real problem, but not an insuperable one. sarah rettger (c) Copyright 2018. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Booklist Review
Twelve-year-old Izzy lives with just her mom, until her cousin Oliver and uncle Henderson come to stay. Since his mother's recent suicide, 10-year-old Oliver has watched with quiet dread as his father sinks further into grief and depression. Meanwhile, 16-year-old Ben, the son of Mom's boyfriend, joins the household for a while, to Izzy's dismay. But gradually she notices that his harsh words and wild reputation are balanced by unexpected kindness towards Oliver and, increasingly, practicality and insight. When Henderson disappears and Oliver figures out his probable destination, Izzy and Ben put aside their differences and take the boy on an unsanctioned road trip to find his father. Wittlinger, whose novel Hard Love (1999) was a Printz Honor Book, creates a cast of well-drawn characters whose personalities, emotions, and interactions drive the story. The writing is lit with lines such as, Izzy tried to return his stare, but his anger sliced her like a knife, and Sixteen in human years . . . a lot older in divorced parent years. The absorbing story of a girl growing up and moving beyond clichéd expectations to broader understanding.--Carolyn Phelan Copyright 2018 Booklist
School Library Journal Review
Gr 4-6-Izzy is a 12-year-old surrounded by loss. Her parents are divorced and her aunt recently committed suicide, leaving her Uncle Hen barely able to take care of himself, let alone his son and her younger cousin, Oliver. Oliver quickly becomes Izzy's responsibility. As if that wasn't enough, her mother is dating a dentist with an intimidating and possibly criminal son and her father is remarried with a new family. While trying to help Oliver deal with his feelings, she learns it is not good to keep emotions bottled up. The characters are well developed and all struggle throughout the book with figuring out the "right" thing to do. VERDICT Tweens who enjoy emotion-heavy realism will relate to Izzy and enjoy this title.-Megan McGinnis, Sachem Public Library, Holbrook, NY © Copyright 2018. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
Izzy knows she's got to look out for her little cousin after his mom's death, but what about how this sucks for her?After Oliver's mom killed herself six weeks ago, Oliver and his dad moved into Izzy's house. Uncle Henderson is sleepwalking through life, though, and Oliver is super needy. Izzy loves her fifth-grader cousin and wants to protect him, but it's hard to be 12 and have someone she regards as a little kid tagging along. She means to be good, but she's coping with too much: her parents' divorce, her dad's impending baby, and her two best friends' interest in boys and popularity. Then her mom's dentist boyfriend has a family emergency, so his scary 16-year-old son needs to spend a few days in Izzy's basement. Izzy's heard horror stories about Ben Gustino, with his scary tattoos and his clompy boots. Oliver even likes Ben better than he likes Izzy, the little traitor. The sudden crisis bringing these three struggling outcasts together follows predictable patterns, but their journeycomplete with a new, Big Bird hairstyle for Izzy and a car theftleads to a satisfying if tidy catharsis. Izzy's desire to become a stand-up comic is a nice touch, though her obsession with Jerry Seinfeld and Melissa McCarthy adds reliance on cultural references that won't necessarily be common among young readers. The book adheres to the white default.An undemanding family drama. (Fiction. 10-12) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Excerpts
"Why are you running?" Oliver called to her. "Why are you such a slowpoke?" Izzy answered. Lately a small, gloomy shadow followed Izzy Shepherd everywhere she went. His name was Oliver Hook, and he was her cousin. Marching through downtown Coolidge, Izzy was at least three strides ahead of the kid. "Are you running away from me?" Oliver yelled. "No." Of course she wasn't running away from him. But a little pinprick of guilt made her slow down anyway. "I don't see why I have to go with you, is all," she said. "I never bought a pair of shoes by myself," Oliver said. Izzy stopped walking and turned to stare at him. "You're ten years old, and you've never bought a pair of shoes by yourself?" "That's not weird. My mom always went with me. You always try to make me sound weird, Izzy." "It's not that hard to do," she mumbled, hoping that Oliver couldn't actually hear her. It wasn't his fault he was suddenly her responsibility. She knew it wasn't fair to take it out on him. She was really mad at the grown-ups, but they had so much else going on, they didn't even notice. The sun bounced off the storefront windows, hit the sidewalk, and exploded into her face. She'd forgotten her sunglasses, and the dazzling light made her squint. All around her, people were rolling up their sleeves to enjoy the end-of-summer sun on their skin, but Izzy could feel the approach of autumn racing toward her, and she hunched her shoulders against it. She didn't like change. In her experience, it never made things better. What was this, now? Some guy in baggy trousers, a striped shirt, and bright red lips on a white-painted face zigzagged through traffic and hopped onto the sidewalk behind Oliver. He wore white gloves and a big black hat and had red circles painted on his cheeks. Oliver wasn't paying attention, but Izzy caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to watch the man dragging his feet in obvious imitation of her cousin. Ugh, he must be a mime from the festival in the park. Why did people think mimes were funny, anyway? Nobody appreciated comedy more than Izzy, but she liked humor to come from words and ideas, not imitation. Mimes just exaggerated everything that was odd or silly about a person. That wasn't funny--it was mean. "Stop following us!" she yelled at the guy. "You look ridiculous!" Oliver turned too, surprised to see the clownish figure. He smiled briefly, and the mime returned the same smile. "He's making fun of you," Izzy hissed, and then sped up again, hoping Oliver would too. "Why would he do that?" Oliver asked. "Because that's what mimes do!" The man passed Oliver so that he occupied the space on the sidewalk between the two cousins. His shoulders pulled back and his neck stiffened as he matched Izzy's aggravated gait. Oliver's sudden, barking laugh surprised Izzy. She hadn't heard a sound like that the entire three weeks the kid had been staying at her house. "He's walking just like you do!" Oliver said. "Like you're trying to get away from something." Izzy put on the brakes so fast, the mime ran into her. "Go away!" she yelled at him. He shrugged and began to immediately follow a woman walking in the opposite direction. She had a big handbag over one arm, and he leaned to the right with the weight of it, just like she did. "Who is that guy?" Oliver asked. "He's pretty funny." "I don't think so. All kinds of nutballs are hanging around the park this week, pretending to be artists." If Oliver thought that guy was funny, Izzy would have to show him some of her DVDs. Wait till he saw Robin Williams as Mrs. Doubtfire. "We don't have stuff like this where I live," he said. "Our town's too little." "You're lucky." But then, because Izzy knew good and well that Oliver was certainly not lucky, she felt embarrassed and steered the conversation back around to herself. "Just because I'm a natural leader," she said, "doesn't mean I want to be followed by somebody." Maybe her cousin would get that she didn't only mean the mime. "Here," she said, turning in to the shoe store. She held the door open while Oliver dragged his fingers along the window glass, ogling the merchandise. "Come on!" She'd never felt impatient with Oliver before-- not until he and his dad had moved into her house. But Izzy thought it was better to feel annoyed with him than to feel sorry for him. Nobody wanted that, did they? In Izzy's experience, pity made you feel like a mangy dog that people might throw some food at but certainly didn't want to touch. Inside the store, Izzy's attention was captured by a pair of pretty ballerina flats that came in lots of colors, including a sparkly silver. The silver shoe on display was just her size, so she slipped it on and admired the way it made her ankle look long and slim. If only her mother had given her enough money to get herself a pair of shoes too, but she hadn't. Izzy needed new school shoes--her toes were squished in her old sneakers and the soles were coming loose. In fact, none of her old shoes fit right anymore--her feet must have grown over the summer. But her mother had hardly listened when Izzy had told her about her shoe requirements. All her mother seemed to have time for these days was worrying about her brother-- Izzy's uncle Henderson--and Oliver. Apparently there was a rule that if your mother was a nurse, she had to help everybody else on earth before she had time to listen to your problems. Oliver stood in front of her, holding a very ugly pair of brown sneakers with Velcro straps across the front. "I like these," he said. "Are you kidding? Only babies wear Velcro." "That's not true." Izzy blew out a stream of exasperated air. "You're starting a new school next week, Oliver. You want the kids to think you're cool, don't you?" "How can shoes be cool? They're just shoes." "Also," she continued, "don't tuck your shirt in so tight. It makes you look nerdy." Oliver shrugged. "I don't care what anybody thinks. We're probably not staying in Coolidge that long anyway." Izzy hoped he was right about that, but she had her doubts. She found a pair of the kind of shoes boys were supposed to wear. Black high-tops with fat laces. When a salesman came over, she handed him the sample. "We need these in a size six." "But I don't like laces," Oliver said. "They come open." "God, Oliver, you're going into fifth grade. You can tie your shoes, can't you?" "You're so bossy!" he said, but she could tell he was giving up the fight. Am I bossy? Izzy wondered. Is it bossy if you're just helping somebody for their own good? Ten minutes later they left the store with the hightops in a box. "I hear music," Oliver said as they walked out of the shopping district toward Izzy's house. "Can we go listen?" Izzy groaned. "There'll be a million people in the park." "You always exaggerate. Maybe a hundred." They might as well go to the park. As soon as they got home, Izzy's mother would just come up with some other boring task that fell under the heading of "being extra kind to Oliver these days." She'd ask Izzy to "rise to the occasion," as if she hadn't been doing that for weeks already. Izzy was quite sure that being extra kind to her cousin wasn't going to make a bit of difference to him anyway. Not six weeks ago Oliver's mother had killed herself, which was about the worst thing that could happen to a kid. Nothing anybody could do for him was going to change that. Izzy felt bad for Oliver--how could she not? But his problem was so enormous and overwhelming, there wasn't any room left for anyone to care about her smaller troubles, which didn't feel all that small to her. They stood in the sparse circle that surrounded the guitar player, a middle-aged man wearing cowboy boots and a trucker hat. He could strum his instrument well enough, but his raspy voice grated on Izzy's last nerve. Man, she thought, they let anybody play here. Oliver wasn't impressed either. "My dad's a lot better than that guy," he said as they left the park. "Well, yeah ," Izzy said. "Your dad's a professional." Or he was , anyway. "I wish Dad would play his guitar again," Oliver said. "He hasn't even touched it since . . . you know." "My mom says not to rush him. He'll start performing again eventually." Izzy didn't actually hold out much hope for Uncle Henderson resuming his career as a singer-songwriter anytime soon. The man had barely even left the bedroom her mom had assigned him when he and Oliver moved into their big, creaky old house three weeks ago. He didn't play his guitar. He didn't sing. He just sat in the rocking chair and stared out the window, as if his dead wife were likely to come walking up the front sidewalk any minute. It was awful to say, but Izzy hadn't been that surprised when she heard about Aunt Felicia taking the pills. Aunt Felicia had always spooked Izzy a little bit. She was quiet and nervous--just the opposite of Uncle Henderson--and when she smiled, it never seemed like a real smile, but more like a mask she didn't want anyone to see behind. Izzy's mother said that Aunt Felicia's depression was an illness, and that mental illness was not that different from physical illness. She said Aunt Felicia wasn't just sad--it was a lot worse than that--but Izzy still didn't really understand it. She'd had a great husband, a smart little kid, and a job she liked as a gardener. Why wasn't that enough to make her happy? Izzy was not a psychologist like that Cassie Clayton woman her mother had made her see for a while, but she was twelve years old, and she knew plenty. For one thing, she knew there was no point being overprotective of Oliver just because a bad thing had happened to him. Izzy knew that life could be hard, and sometimes you were going to get hurt. A person needed to toughen up to be able to stand it. That's what she'd had to do when her dad left, and she intended to teach her cousin to toughen up too. "Izzy?" Oliver said shyly, cocking his head. "When we get home, will you swing me in the hammock?" She sighed. Her job was not going to be easy. Excerpted from Someone Else's Shoes by Ellen Wittlinger All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
